


Of A Scattered Tempest

by Jennybel75



Series: The Poets Series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennybel75/pseuds/Jennybel75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More than anything you wish you could do what he asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of A Scattered Tempest

**Author's Note:**

> A 221B format fic

You see him standing there, sad, alone, broken. Asking you to perform a miracle you have the will, all the will in the world, but not the ability, to do. Not now and maybe never. It shakes you and Moriarty’s words come back, whispering softly as if carried on the gentle breeze wending its way through this place of sadness. Your heart has been burned and now you have caused the burning of his. You never wanted this to cause him pain or sorrow. You realised what you were going to have to do to protect him was going to hurt you, the pain almost intolerable in its intensity, but you never expected your feelings to be reflected back at you by the mirror he has become. You loved him, do so still, but it was quietly and without hope or expectation that your feelings would ever be returned. But this, his tightly controlled grief, his heartfelt request for your return has you wondering if you were wrong. You know there’s always one thing you don’t see, was this it? It strengthens rather than shakes your resolve; he must be protected and maybe, one day he will look at you again and smile. 

He turns and walks away and you are glad he doesn’t see you standing there, sad, alone, broken.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N – written for mandatorily who was having a no good, very bad day and wanted an angsty, post-Reichenbach, Sherlock pov fic inspired by the below poem by Pushkin. Can be read as a companion to Backwoods Days.
> 
> I loved you once: perhaps that love has yet  
> To die down thoroughly within my soul;  
> But let it not dismay you any longer;  
> I have no wish to cause you any sorrow.  
> I loved you wordlessly, without a hope,  
> By shyness tortured, or by jealousy.  
> I loved you with such tenderness and candor  
> And pray God grants you to be loved that way again.  
> -Aleksandr Pushkin


End file.
